


Finding Solace

by bavaria44



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bromance, Brother Feels, Brothers, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugs, Drunkenness, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Real Life, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bavaria44/pseuds/bavaria44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From his earliest memories, at every point in his life, his brother was there for him. Until a tragedy tore them apart, Resentment, anger and guilt dwell where brotherly love once had been. It is said that time heals all wounds. Can the brothers find the way back to each other? Will their sorrow solace one day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Beta-edited by Alpha Flyer; thank you so, so much. Otherwise totally mine.

I spent quite a bit of my childhood in the hospital.

I was ten. It was late afternoon. It was so foggy; dad complained that he couldn't see anything in front of us. The road was literally shrouded.

We stopped at a gas station; Mom went out and brought back coffee-to-go for Dad. "Here you are darling," she handed the cup to him. Then she turned over to me. "You're still mad at your math teacher, aren't you?"

I frowned. "Yes. Yes, I am." And to emphasize how angry I was, I crossed my arms across my chest and grunted like a hedgehog.

"I knew you would be. I bought you sweets, baby."

I had always hated it when Mom called me baby.

Her face was beaming when she gave me the paper-covered parchment box full of deliciousness. "I didn't know which your favorite is, so I bought pick-and-mix."

"Thank you. Great," I murmured.

Dad switched on the windshield wipers because it has begun to rain heavily, and we headed home.

We hit a deep puddle as we sped up the road. I saw a taxi with no lights, approaching us at high speed. A fully-loaded car transporter was slowing down in front of him; I bet the taxi driver didn't like it at all.

The rain got heavier. I sat inside the car, listening to another of dad's ridiculous and absurd jokes, and watched the raindrops jetting across the windshield.

Someone honked outside, there were tires screeching, and the taxi slammed into us. Sweets scattered, windshields shattered and glass splinters covered me from head to thighs.

I was screaming. Mom was screaming. Dad cursed.

All of a sudden, there were headlights ahead of us, large, blinding, and we struck them head on.

The seat belt held me in place but the front seat jolted backwards and pressed against my knees. The world turned to a blur. All I could hear was the screeching of tires, cars smashing and these thuds. It seemed to go on forever.

And then I heard an explosion. Our car shook and rolled over and stopped. It went eerily quiet. The rain drops kept drumming on the roof, the water flowed into the broken windows in torrents.

With a thundering sound the roof crushed in. Blood spattered my face and chest. I was deaf for a couple of minutes. I wasn't able to move. I wasn't in pain, my face and my legs were just feeling numb.

I wasn't particularly rattled or frightened but felt calm, like I was watching everything from a safe distance. I saw my dad fumble around his seatbelt. He unfastened it and walked out and away from our car.

I wanted to reach out to him but my arms wouldn't obey. "Do-don't leave… d-daddy," I stuttered. "Daddy… don't le-leave… don't leave m-me…"

After dad had climbed up the embankment, he disappeared from my sight. The car that we ran into was flipped onto its roof; the one that had slammed into us had caught fire.

People were injured and screaming, a blonde girl was lying on the road motionlessly, a blood trail ran from her head on the wet road. Looking at her through the broken windshield, I thought that I had never seen anything like it.

A man's body rested half inside, half outside the taxi, his head dangling down. The mass of twisted metal didn't look like a car anymore. I squinted as I tried to focus on a huge blood-blister on the man's forehead.

A growing circle of spectators, some of them pedestrians, some drivers who had left their own cars, began to form. There were people pawing hesitantly at the seized doors of the taxi that hit us, afraid to really yank them open.

From out of nowhere, a firefighter along with a paramedic came up. They managed to squeeze through a gap between two buckled vehicles.

Then the pain started in my right arm and I forgot all about wanting to cry.

* * *

My memories from that night are very vague. But I remember that after I came out of surgery, Robert was there, at the hospital.

"Am I going to die, Rob?" I asked him, surprised how weak my own voice was.

"No. You're going to be alright," Robert reassured me. The doctors had told him so.

The hospital was a nightmare; a nerve-wracking chaos of people in white coats running around, of screaming children and distraught old people.

"I don't want to die."

"You won't," Robert reiterated. But I saw that my brother's normally bright brown eyes were full of fear, and I could practically feel the worry and sadness coming off him.

"You won't let me die, will you?" I looked around the room. It resembled a well-preserved prison cell, both in appearance and significance. It smelled of sterility and hopelessness.

"The doctors won't let you die, Michael," Robert said to me. "You'll have a scar. Chicks dig scars," he forced out a half-smile, "but you won't die."

"I don't want you to die either," I said with my drowsy voice. "So be careful…"

My legs were up in slings, drainage tubes were coming from both knees. My chest was wrapped in gauze. I had broken my right arm, my left one was covered with bruises, and my head was throbbing.

"Mom..." I reached out for a person that wasn't there, my arm in gypsum. "I want my mommy. Where's... where's...?"

Robert caught my hand gently. "Shhh, it's okay, Mikey, it's okay, you're okay."

"Be careful, all right, Rob?" I insisted.

"Whatever you say, Mikey."

"I'm so tired..." I fought to stay awake. But as I listened to my own breathing and the meaningless conversations of the people passing by, everything slowed down like in a time-loop; the lights fluttered and I drifted away.

The nurses told me that Robert left home after I was asleep and returned before I awoke. So in some ways, he never left me alone, not even once.

To be continued…

Bavaria


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From his earliest memories, at every point in his life, his brother was there for him. Until a tragedy tore them apart, Resentment, anger and guilt dwell where brotherly love once had been. It is said that time heals all wounds. Can the brothers find the way back to each other? Will their sorrow solace one day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Beta-edited by Alpha Flyer; thank you so, so much. Otherwise totally mine.

Rains came and went. I sat in a wheel-chair at the window and gazed at the little rivers carving their way through the glistening black pebbles to the channel that emptied into the backyard.

I heard approaching footsteps carrying a familiar voice. "… don't think you realize. You're an adult, Robert. But Michael has a fragility that makes him more vulnerable. I hope the neighborhood won't trap him. You know, all the drugs and guns and prostitution."

I rolled my eyes and imagined that Robert did the same.

Two or three seconds later, Aunt Sally walked into the room. Robert flanked her, his forehead lined in a frown. There was something in his eyes that made my heart seize.

Aunt Sally ran to me. She tossed her handbag onto a bed and embraced me. "My dear boy! My beautiful boy!" Pressing our foreheads together, she told me, "I'm going to handle this, don't you worry."

What was she going to handle, I didn't know. "What do you mean?"

Aunt Sally looked Robert firmly into the eyes. Robert seemed faraway and unreachable. He shrugged and Aunt Sally returned her gaze back to me. "Michael, I have something to tell you. The day of the accident…," she paused, grappling with words. "Your parents died in the accident."

Time was suspended for minutes.

At first, my eyes welled up with tears and all I said was, "Oh no."

"I hate hurting you so badly. I know what it's like and I know it changes you." She wasn't crying, but her face was serious.

I swallowed back the panic rising in my chest. "N-no," my voice stuttered. I glanced shiftily at Aunt Sally, then at Robert, and at Aunt Sally again. "No, no, no, no, no, that's not true, that can't be true. I saw dad leaving the car!" I screamed.

Robert breathed deeply as if to ward off a headache. "They found him about a quarter mile from the accident, along the road."

Aunt Sally had given Robert a fierce look before she knelt before me and said kindly, "I'm so, so sorry." She gripped my shoulders gently, too gently by far.

I pushed her away. "No! They can't be dead! You're lying! Why are you lying to me?" I gave a cry of sorrow and defiance. "If it were true, Rob would have told me!"

Robert quietly shook his head and raised a hand to wipe a stray tear that fell down his cheek.

Seeing him, I trembled. Weariness overcame me. The world around me swayed. I tried to cry out but the only thing that came out was a harsh, ragged gasp.

Aunt Sally looked stricken. She took my face into her warm hands, ignoring how I squirmed. "Calm down, child, calm down, don't strain yourself…" In spite of my attempts to bat her away, she didn't let go.

My defiance from before left me in an instant. I twisted my hands into the hem of her pink cardigan. "I want them back! Please… bring them back, please." I breathed hard.

"I can't, Michael," her voice shook, her eyes began to go red-rimmed with tears, "as much as I want to."

My heart swelled. "I… we shouldn't have stopped… we shouldn't have stopped…"

"Sh, sh, sh," Aunt Sally soothed me. "What are you talking about?"

"If we hadn't had stopped at the gas station, they would be still here! Mom wanted to buy... to buy..." I searched Robert's eyes. And I had found them. What I saw in them, made me choke on my own tears. "It is all my fault!"

Only now I found myself noticing the dark circles that ringed Aunt Sally´s eyes, smudged shadows, making her look older, much older. "No, it's not, Michael," she said. "Michael? Michael!"

I tried to get up from the wheelchair, so badly I wanted to run away. Instead, I dropped back helplessly, not even lifting an inch off the seat, and I hid my face on her shoulder, and burst out into loud sobbing.

Aunt Sally held me close, her fingers tangled in my hair. "It's okay, Michael, it's okay. I'm here for you no matter what."

It wasn't okay, it never would be okay.

Robert stayed where he was for a moment, looking lost, not a sound escaped him. His brown eyes were fixated on a random spot on the floor. I don't remember seeing him leave the room.

* * *

Rob's visits became scarce. Every time he came to the hospital he seemed more and more annoyed or tired or both. I wasn't sure. "We're going to have to talk about this." That was all I knew. "Eventually."

Robert really was looking more than a touch uncomfortable. He averted his gaze and took a sip of the coffee he brought with him. "No, we're not."

"Yes, we are," I insisted. Hearing an irate snort coming from him, I continued, "I know how you feel… you know how I feel… so…"

Robert frowned, his nostrils flared and he snapped finally. "What do you want me to do? Give you something cuddly?" He sputtered a bitter, mirthless chuckle. "Lick your wounds and move on."

I could feel the heat building behind my eyes as I was staring back at him in shock.

Robert ran a hand through his sullen face. "Look, if you want to cry, cry. But tears won't bring them back." He shook his head. "You have to get over it."

"It… It…" My breath hitched. "It's mom's birthday today."

Thin-lipped and tight-shouldered he gave me a long glare. "Don't think about them, and it will get better in time."

It felt like an eternity before Robert finished his cup of coffee and left. I didn't like the solitude but I had to admit that I felt slightly better after he had gone. A nurse came and tugged the blankets over my shoulders. She stayed and read the comics to me until I fell asleep.

* * *

After three months in the hospital and many courses of physiotherapy, I went home for good.

Aunt Sally flew in from the States again to pick me up. "Ready?" She offered me a hand while Robert packed my stuff.

I wasn't angry with her anymore for telling me that Mom and Dad had died, without sugar coating it in any way. It was the best thing she could have done, to just say what happened. That was really all that was necessary to say. She couldn't make the news any better.

"Ready." I took her hand and we walked away… well, she walked, I was put from the bed into the wheel-chair and wheeled.

* * *

Aunt Sally told me that she had organized the funeral before I was released from hospital. Later the day I came home, her and my brother sat on the couch in the living room, stooping over a pile of papers.

"Everything must change," Aunt Sally told Robert. "And you do what you can with those changes."

I was well aware that listen secretly to private conversation of others was rude. And I did feel guilty for a moment, well, until I heard Robert say, "Once in a lifetime… you get such an opportunity once in a lifetime. Imagine what I could do there... contacts, possibilities, experience, contracts... I'm excellent in free hand drawing. Nikken Sekkei would even pay for the scholarship."

Suddenly, I felt very tired, and my stomach was rolling with stress and uncertainty.

Robert went on. "Did you see the Dalia Tower they've finished this year?"

Aunt Sally's eyes went skyward. "Yes," – by which she really meant ´no´ – and she continued. "This may be true, but your brother needs you, he's too young and doesn't comprehend what is happening."

I understood very well – something terrible had happened to my life and Robert wanted to leave me to face it alone.

"I've been preparing myself for this for two semesters," Robert said, his voice defiant and pleading at the same time. "I need this."

"Robert," Aunt Sally wanted to take him by the hand but he shoved her away.

"Robert, you have to be strong now. I know you want to go away. I know you want to leave all this behind. I know you're hurting..."

"You don't know anything," Robert spat and stood up. "You can't stop me."

And then he quieted, staring down at Aunt Sally. Despite his height he seemed smaller. He was turning into a baby boy again. His upper lip trembled, his eyes were dark and openly in pain. Aunt Sally rose and stepped closer to him.

"I can't take care of Michael; not with my orchard and my husband... since my dear George...," she left the sentence unfinished. She clasped Robert's shoulders and this time, he let her. "Of course, I'll help you as I can. You know that."

Clenching his teeth, Robert nodded.

"But you have to think about what's best for Michael, too. You have to do the right thing now for the both of you." Aunt Sally said solemnly. "You can't just pack your bags and leave him on his own."

Robert shot her a venomous glare. "Don't tell me what I can and cannot do!"

The words came out grudgingly, but the tone of his voice was muddied with a misery badly disguised as anger. His hands came up, fingers tangled in his dark hair fiercely. Robert sagged back into the couch, blinked, and when he opened his eyes, moisture was beading his lashes.

"I miss them so much." Robert's deceptively steady breath hitched.

Aunt Sally kneeled and pulled Robert into a hug as his shoulders began to tremble.

That was the last time I saw my brother cry.

To be continued…

Bavaria


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From his earliest memories, at every point in his life, his brother was there for him. Until a tragedy tore them apart, Resentment, anger and guilt dwell where brotherly love once had been. It is said that time heals all wounds. Can the brothers find the way back to each other? Will their sorrow solace one day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Beta-edited by Alpha Flyer; thank you so, so much. Otherwise totally mine.

Robert became my legal guardian. I wasn't very fond of the whole idea – and I could see that neither was Robert. I wanted to fly back with Sally. Robert wanted to spend a year abroad and have a life.

A few days later, Aunt Sally returned to the States. Before she left, she insisted on buying us a Christmas tree. In my humble opinion, it was a ridiculous idea. But our aunt was a stubborn and determined woman. And so I sat in the living room, drinking milk from the bottle, while the lights of the Christmas tree bubbled and danced, and I felt heartbroken.

Robert prepared for his college exams. He scarcely came out of his room on the top floor. And when he did, he headed directly for the bookshelves in our living room or went out.

"I'm going to try my best and do it," he announced. "I mean, really become an architect."

"You're smart," I said. "You'll make it."

"I'll read all of them," Robert gestured towards the bookshelves. "They'll teach me everything I need to know. I'll be the best in my year. You'll see."

The more he read, the more he knew.

"Look at those gentle curves," he traced the lines on the layout of a circular building, "Look at that sloping dome. It's more aerodynamic; the air is kept out and flows freely around. That's good for insulation."

I was a sixth grader and knew nothing – neither about curved buildings, nor the conventional ones. I just liked when Robert was reading aloud or talking about ´in-ground buildings´ or ´water terraces´ or ´expressionist architecture´ or about anything at all.

Rob was looking at a sketch of a square building which was going to be a bank someday, when he said, "I'm going to Tokyo for three weeks in March. The university offered me a short-term internship...," he stopped and turned the page.

I was speechless. What was he trying to pull here? Was he speaking genuinely? Was he going to do this in spite of what our aunt told him? Was he being defiant again?

"You remember Mrs. Cooper, our neighbor? She will take care of you. Everything's arranged."

Robert looked at me and for a brief moment I thought that I was staring at my dad. I studied his face. There wasn't a hint and I couldn't prove it, but he wasn't telling me the whole truth.

"Okay," I replied hesitantly.

* * *

The days passed. I hated school with all my guts. I hated putting on my uniform and doing homework every day. I was one of those students that the teachers completely ignored or – worse – tried to give pep talks to. And I hated those pretty, nerdy, geeky classmates of mine the teachers liked.

By contrast, I loved coming home and spend my evenings reading comics. I could read them over and over again and imagined that if I had all those secret serums and magic articles, I would hang around Thor and Iron Man and Captain America instead.

Even though, all the heroes had ferocious enemies. I was a bit worried about the Joker, the master criminal who threw bladed playing cards at Batman and killed his victims with his ´Joker venom´, which made them laugh uncontrollably while they were dying.

"Be careful," I told Robert one morning before I went to school, "because the Joker might be around, lurking somewhere in the dark."

"Who? The Joker?" Robert asked. "Don't tell me you believe in that crap."

He laughed out loud when I showed him a copy of ´Sign of the Joker´.

"You blockhead, it's just a stupid comic book."

I almost cried. "I know, Rob, but..."

"It ain't real," Robert said between peals of mirth. "It's a lie."

I never showed him another comic book again. The Joker, however, proved to be more devious than anyone had assumed. I was half past the ´Sign of the Joker´ storyline, on the page where the Joker _turned the page_ for me. He was bowing and tipping his hat in mock politeness.

Few minutes into the reading I heard the front door open downstairs and the voice of Mrs. Cooper.

"Hello? Mr. Mason?"

I jolted. I had forgotten about the news, about Japan. Of course Robert hadn't pressed it. I didn't think he was worried about me at all. I tossed the comic book away and ran out of my room.

Robert was in the kitchen, eating breakfast. A small bag waited on the floor near the stairwell. Mrs. Cooper was talking about her daughter who studied medicine in Tokyo.

"Please don't go." I nearly whispered. I felt a sting of tears coming into my eyes. I swallowed hard. The sting went away.

Robert looked to me slowly. He caught my eye and I braced for his reaction. But he returned to the business of eating.

The sting was coming back. I chewed on the inside of my cheek. All in vain; I sat down on the floor, stuck my head between my knees and started to cry.

Suddenly, there were gentle fingers in my hair and cradling my hands. I wiped my face with my T-shirt and as I looked up, through the blur of tears, I saw Mrs. Cooper reaching for me.

"There, there, Michael," she said softly.

Robert was standing by the door now, checking the time. I rose up quickly and rushed to him, still in tears.

"Rob, please don't go, please, please..." I kept saying.

"Mike, I have to go," he said as he stepped outside. A black cab was waiting for him to take him to the airport. "I want to go. Actually, I'm looking forward to it. Besides, it's only for three weeks..."

"No," I cried. "What... what if something happens to you?" I threw my arms around him.

"Nothing will happen to me." Robert pushed me away tenderly but I grabbed his arm with both my hands.

"What if your school tells you to stay there for six months? What if they tell you to stay there for a year?" I was holding on to him. "You'll find a job and stay forever..."

Robert stuck to what he had said but really, I had no idea how long he'd be gone.

"Please, please stay," I wailed. "Don't go, Rob, don't go, don't go, don't go, please..."

I was sure that Rob would be alright. Nevertheless, I worried about him all the time. He was my big, wise brother and I loved him. And I didn't want him to leave.

"Stop bawling now." Robert shook me off and walked away.

Mrs. Cooper laid her wrinkled hands upon my shoulders in case I wanted to run after him. But I didn't. I stood obediently and watched Robert enter the cab.

"I'll bring you back a souvenir," he shouted back before he disappeared in the car.

The sun was rising over London, the sky all yellow and orange, the skyline beginning to sink into the light. I could hear the horns of dozens of cars and the roaring engine of the cab that took Robert away.

And then the sun rose, the sky turned azure and then blue. The skyline glowed in a bright balmy spring day as it did every day now. Mrs. Cooper squeezed my shoulders and murmured something in a hushed expectant voice. I readied my bag and she drove me to school.

To be continued…

Bavaria


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From his earliest memories, at every point in his life, his brother was there for him. Until a tragedy tore them apart, Resentment, anger and guilt dwell where brotherly love once had been. It is said that time heals all wounds. Can the brothers find the way back to each other? Will their sorrow solace one day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Beta-edited by Alpha Flyer; thank you so, so much. Otherwise totally mine.

Robert didn't come back after three weeks. He didn't come back after a month. As it turned out, the university sent him abroad on a one-year exchange program to Tokyo, which he welcomed eagerly.

"Is this some unwritten script he is performing just to put me out?" Aunt Sally was furious. She had even flown in for a couple of weeks when she'd heard the news. "When your lying brother comes back," she said, "I'm so going to smack his thick head."

That made me laugh. Still, while she was being very generous and sweet to me in all respects, she wasn't Robert. I missed him.

Rob was a talented young man, the pride and glory of his class, a member of several student clubs, a writer for school papers and a volunteer consultant. Me, I cheated on my math exam. Once, Deidre Spencer, a bigmouthed classmate of mine, had finked me out to the math teacher. The teacher, a little dull man, expelled me from class. I slammed the door to my classroom behind me. The door closed with a bang, and broken glass crashed to the floor. There was uproar behind me in the classroom, which didn't interest me at all. Later that day, I sat in a chair next to the principal's office door. I listened to the conversation between the principal and the math teacher through the crack in the door.

"I do not have a problem with that lad as an individual, alright?" The little dull man said. "It's just... after what he had been through..."

"I know." The principal, a bespectacled, short-haired man, looked over and spotted me listening outside. Then he turned back to my math teacher. "Don't let him walk scot-free here. For his sake... not mine. We might be all he has left."

My eyes swelled.

I had to stay after school for the rest of the month, writing out entire chapters from my workbooks.

* * *

We didn't have a computer back then; information technology was in its stone ages. Robert wrote few letters to me and Aunt Sally.

From what I understood, he was doing well in Tokyo. In fact, he revealed a talent for languages; he picked up Japanese quickly. He even liked the change so much that he was considering another year or two abroad.

But somewhere along the road he decided that communication with the family wasn't a priority. At a point, I was left with short sporadic phone calls in the middle of the night, in which he was telling me only that he was healthy and doing fine.

"When are you coming home?" I asked him during every call.

"I don't know. The plane ticket isn't exactly cheap, you know?" There was a lot of static and echo on the line but I was happy I could hear his voice. "And I've got a lot of work to do. Exams are coming up... I'll be out of reach for a while then."

And he was out of reach for a while then, indeed.

* * *

On the last Monday in August, Mrs. Cooper took me to visit my parents' graves. She didn't have to work, England had a bank holiday. The day before she'd even taken me out on a shopping spree and bought me a pair of new shoes and some T-shirts because tomorrow was _going to be such a special day and all._ She took out her purse. I refused. She paid anyway. "Having children is a blessing," she told me. "It's a responsibility for us to love, feed and clothe them."

I had always imagined a graveyard to be a grey, misty place full of shrieking black crows casting shadows on the gravestones. Today was a bright, sunny, sweltering day. The sky was cloudless, the sun shone on my face.

Mrs. Cooper put a bouquet in front of the tombstone. "You and your parents are in my thoughts and prayers."

I had the urge to say something, something that would make her feel appreciated something in the lines of _I_ _t_ _hank you for doing this._

My lips remained sewn shut.

"They are looking on you down from Heaven."

"Yeah," I murmured. I wanted to believe that very much.

I still couldn't believe that mom and dad were gone. I dreamed about them often. They would sit in the park, having breakfast, talking to each other. Then they turned to me and smiled - and I woke up upset.

Sunny days were the worst. The skies were so blue, I felt like I could talk to my parents. I asked God if he realized he'd taken them too soon... He didn't answer. He'd come down here and taken them from me. It wasn't fair.

On this particular day, a sudden weakness overcame me; I wanted to run and scream. I wondered if Robert was doing likewise and disappearing into a foreign country half-globe away was his way of dealing with it. Did he care after all? Robert would never admit that.

Something in my face had to betray me because Mrs. Cooper stooped to my level and took my hand. "You are not alone Michael, even if you might feel like it, sometimes. You have your aunt, you have me, and you have your brother..."

"Rob's in freaking Japan," I gritted out between teeth. "I would rather have a brother who lectures me, yells at me, wrestles with me, who shoves me or pins me to the floor, than one that doesn't show his face throughout the year because some stupid training in some stupid country means more to him! He cares about nothing in the world besides himself!"

Mrs. Cooper shook her head. "He only wants to make the best out of his studies. I'm sure he misses you just as much as you miss him."

"No, he doesn't. He thinks I m dead weight."

I knew how that made me sound. Like a whiner, some sort of self-pitying wuss. And no, I wasn't denying that this was who I was. But I was not only talking about me here. I was talking about _us:_ who _we_ really were now.

Mrs. Cooper blinked a couple of times in surprise. "What makes you think that? Did he say something to you in his letters?"

"His letters are a travesty! All he does is lie! He doesn't believe in me! He isn't here with me!" My voice began to pitch, higher and higher until I was screaming the words that tore out of me. "He's got a big fucking mouth! All he does with it, is lying! Just lying! I hate him!"

"Language, Michael." Mrs. Cooper finally rose and shot me a startled, wide-eyed look. "You're sad, I understand that. You're frustrated, I understand that too. But I don't think you know what you're saying."

"I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!"

She shook me by the shoulders. "You don't mean that."

"I hate him! I hate him! I never want to see him again!"

Her grip on my shoulders tightened and I realized that she was talking to me again. Her lips were moving but all I could hear was my own roaring in my ears. I jerked away from the touch to brace myself against a tree.

It couldn't have been very long before the anger began to subside, half a minute at the most, but it felt like half a day. I focused on breathing to calm down and the green of the grass.

Mrs. Cooper locked eyes with me for several moments. She didn't smile. She didn't seem angry with me either. She patted me on my back.

Both of us feeling awful, we went home.

* * *

I stayed at Mrs. Cooper's house for the rest of the day. She made pudding and showed me her photo-albums; we sat, ate and talked.

There was a picture of a nice blond girl my brother's age, dressed in a white coat. "I remember my Jane when she was a baby. I loved those days dearly, her vulnerability, her need of me. Oh well," Mrs. Cooper gave me a tiny, wry smile, "best go buy a dog and walk it and get rid of my blue moods." She winked at me and flipped the page.

"That's my ex...," she gave me an uncertain look, "... my ex-husband. He s a horrible, horrible person; ran away with some witch when my sweet Jane was born. If I had my way, I would hang them both by the necks for the things they came out with."

Then, there was a faded photograph of two little girls in dotted bath-suits playing on the beach. "That's me and my sister," Mrs. Cooper picked the photograph and held it between her thumb and point finger. "I miss you every God's day." She kissed the picture and put it back. Then she looked at me. "Be careful what you wish for, love," she said with a hesitant voice.

I averted her gaze. While a feeling of _déja vu_ washed over me, I remembered that I had such a photograph too; me, sitting on the dock, biting my lip; Rob, shading his eyes and watching the waves turn white at the tip. And then another photograph came to my mind; mom, making sandwiches under a yellow sunshade and dad, stuffing his face with them, both giggling. I had taken that picture. I had never imagined living my life without them. But I never told them how much I loved them. Now it was too late. I didn't want to make the same mistake with Rob.

To be continued...

Bavaria


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From his earliest memories, at every point in his life, his brother was there for him. Until a tragedy tore them apart, Resentment, anger and guilt dwell where brotherly love once had been. It is said that time heals all wounds. Can the brothers find the way back to each other? Will their sorrow solace one day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Beta-edited by Alpha Flyer; thank you so, so much. Otherwise totally mine.

When Robert finally came home for Christmas, I was glad. Well, glad didn't really do it. I was thrilled, relieved, ecstatic, whatever. I said a prayer of thanks.

I was reading by myself in the living room. It took an extra minute to reach me, as if it was coming from the bottom of a well: Robert's voice, as he arrived at our house s porch. "Anybody home?"

I dropped everything I was doing right now and dashed to him.

"Hi." I hardly recognized him. He had grown a beard and long hair, strange excitement was palpable on his face. He resembled a fisherman who just returned from a whaling campaign.

Robert grinned. "Oh, good, you are home."

"I'm glad you re here," I said and meant every word. "I wasn't sure I was going to see you again."

"Am I happy to see you too. You've got no idea." Robert dropped his bag, his boots and his coat, and stormed the kitchen immediately. "What's for dinner? I'm starving."

"I decided I would try a beef stew. It looks like the picture in the calendar." I preened. "And shortbread chocolate chip cookies."

I watched with a bit of sick satisfaction as Robert filled his plate with the meat, mashed potatoes and vegetables, and grabbed a handful of cookies.

"Hey, I've got some videos." I beckoned and whizzed to the living room.

"Don't bother looking. I'm only go..."

"This one's great. This one's trash, but whatever," I rummaged through the stash. "And here's one I've seen before. I laughed so hard I almost puked," I snickered. "But let's watch it anyway."

Robert sighed and rubbed his temples as if to fend off a headache. Maybe he really did have one. "Yeah, okay, okay. But I don't want to watch anything. I just want to eat and sleep." He took his bag and without saying another word he shut himself in his room. I heard him drop the bag to the floor and unzip it, and then remove his trousers, change jingling in the pockets, before falling heavily into bed. Then there was silence in our house again, except for my breathing.

To be continued...

Bavaria


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From his earliest memories, at every point in his life, his brother was there for him. Until a tragedy tore them apart, Resentment, anger and guilt dwell where brotherly love once had been. It is said that time heals all wounds. Can the brothers find the way back to each other? Will their sorrow solace one day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-edited by Alpha Flyer; thank you for being my awesome beta :)

As I said before, I spent quite a bit of my childhood in the hospital. One Friday afternoon, coincidentally on my thirteenth birthday, on what would for everyone else have been a school day, I had an accident during my P.E.

The buzz of the E.R. swarmed around me. It sounded so familiar. The hall was decked with howling, cranked teenage twins, one legless guy on a wheelchair begging for painkillers because his feet were killing him, a number of hysterically coughing old people, two weak-and-dizzies in high heels and short skirts, a splinter in the eye and a Lego brick stuck up the nose.

Yeah, happy birthday to me.

I once saw a picture of a squirrel with a broken and bandaged paw and thought it looked hilarious. My biology teacher shushed me and said that a human arm can break in ten different places. However, he was a master of the understatement when he compared the pain with the numbness and tingling and a deep ache you got from a super bad stomachache.

I felt as if someone had lit my body on fire and tried to put it out with a track shoe. Deidre – the only girl in my soccer team, who was there when it happened, laughed and asked me if she may, later, decorate my cast in pretty flowers and mythical creatures. I wanted to strangle her, but for doing that, I would need two hands.

I kept passing out, contributing to the chaos in the E.R. by groaning and crying and begging for Demerol – I knew perfectly well what it was – until the hallucinating twins were beginning to harmonize and a nurse called out my name.

I pulled away from the steely touch of scissors but an intern as big as a mountain took hold of me and held me in place. Then I watched miserably as the doctor cut away the dirty remnants of my shirt. I could not help but hiss, and I writhed and nearly kicked one of the nurses, the one with the round, fat, greasy face – I caught myself praying silently that this monster wouldn't touch me.

"What happened?" the doctor asked.

"Friday happened," Piggy Face replied with a sigh. They both exchanged a knowing look.

Suddenly, I was cold. I shivered.

"We were playing soccer." My voice was trembling and panicky. "I was running. A teammate fell in front of me and I had to leap over him. I was clumsy and missed the jump and fell on my arm and slid and heard something snap."

It had been my fault, and I knew it. I knew the limits of my sporting skills – which were non-existent – better than anyone. "It-it hurts," I cried out.

After I had stumbled, somehow, to my knees, the teacher had helped me up and driven me to the hospital. "Don't cry, sweetheart," she said, the car engine whirring as she accelerated. "You'll be alright. You'll wear a cast for a couple of weeks, that's all. When I broke my fingers," she continued, "during a volleyball match, I just laughed it off."

Looking at her the entire time, grinding my teeth, clutching my arm, sweating, I was thinking whether she would laugh it off if she had to remove my vomit from the interior of her car.

She supported my every step, kept talking to me while I was fainting and felt battered. Finally, in the lobby at the hospital, the hulky intern had lifted me up in his arms and put me onto a stretcher as though I were a child of five, not thirteen.

And so here I was.

I felt my eyes watering with the sheer pain. One bone was broken cleanly and decisively, beneath skin that was brush-burned raw from shoulder to elbow. At the sight of it, a new wave of cold sweat drenched me and I shut my eyes tight.

"Where else does it hurt?" The doctor asked.

I spoke through teeth. "All that side… I… I don't know."

"Your head?"

"No." I lay taut and still, my other fist clenched. Sweat dripped down the side of my face. Just then I remembered I had read once that one way to overcome fear was to make the thing you feared seem less threatening. In that story, a volunteer had been asked to gradually walk closer and closer to an open container full of creepy-crawlies, and eventually to put a hand into it and touch them. I was scared just as he had probably been, out-of-my-pans-scared, but saying something like "I'm way bigger than that itty bitty spider," couldn't help me feel better.

The doctor examined me further, her long fingers testing those dark bruises and scrapes. I listened to some medical mumbo-jumbo about a bone called humorous – or was it homerooms? – waiting for this woman to hurt me and heal me. Anything she said could frighten me now.

"Except for the arm I cannot see any severe hurt on you, only bruises and abrasions," she answered without hesitation. "We'll do an x-ray. And call a hand surgeon." She was talking to a nurse now. "We're taking him to the O.P. immediately," her voice steady, flint, curtly.

My breath came out in a sharp, shallow rasp. "Will it hurt?"

"No." The doctor's stiff fingers were steady against my broken arm. "You will be sleeping."

I was suddenly grateful.

"You're a brave patient, Michael. You won't be able to play soccer for a couple of weeks, though."

_Thank god._ With eyes still shut and teeth clenched, I nodded.

"You will have to stay here tonight. Whom do I call?"

I looked up into her eyes – calm and intelligent, and saw that she was smiling back at me, waiting patiently for my reply. _My brother,_ I wanted to say. Robert was probably at school, working on a project. Since he had been back in London, he seldom found time for anything else, including me. "Mrs. Cooper. Call Mrs. Cooper, please." I didn´t want to stare into those dark judging eyes, describing how it happened over and over, feeling small and stupid in front of him.

Me and my brother, we had drifted apart without noticing it.

* * *

I woke up to some woman's crying.

My arm was bandaged, the scrapes washed and salved, and it hurt like hell.

The crying woman stood in the corridor outside my room. The faint light out there was buzzing and blinking like in some B horror movie. The woman was short, her hair looked unkempt. She was dressed in a faded, pink sweater buttoned randomly over a nightgown. Shaking her head, she began her chant of denial, softly at first: "No, no, no, no" – then louder as a doctor approached her – the one who had treated my arm in the E.R.

I watched them from the distance of my room without feeling anything, as though I were watching a random movie their conversation I found out that the woman had just lost her husband in a car accident.

"I am sorry," the doctor said at length.

"No, no, no, no," the disheveled woman croaked, her desperate tone made her words almost inaudible, but they still echoed around the eerie, empty corridor. She began backing away from the doctor, away from the crushing news. The terrible fear that had been her back-seat companion all the way to the hospital suddenly leapt before her. She collapsed to the floor, her face red and wet. Clutching her body, she gave one final scream with anguish.

Two nurses rushed in. Each one holding that woman´s arm, they took her away.

The doctor saw me gazing at her. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "Your arm keeps you awake, love? I can give you something to lessen the pain."

I only humphed.

"How bad does it hurt?" The doctor touched the cast, which covered my arm from wrist to shoulder, with probing fingers. "Tell me... on a scale from 1 to 10?"

I winced. "It's definitely a 10."

She rose an eyebrow and smiled. "Oh really? Because you're sitting quietly on the bed, you're not pounding your fists on the floor, screaming, and you're not wailing anymore."

"Then it's a nine and a half...?"

Her smile widened and I didn´t quite manage not to return that smile.

Suddenly, I really didn´t want to wail or complain anymore or pound my fists on the floor. I told myself that I would get through this. I had gone through worse and survived things I was certain that I would never survive. I found a strength in me that I hadn't known I possessed.

It was the end of the doctor´s shift and she stayed with me until I fell asleep. We talked. I asked her about the woman from earlier in the evening, and told her about my parents. She said she had known from my medical record. She also said that sometimes she wanted to rip the tongues of some of the younger doctors out of their heads.

"This is one of the very few examples in life, where we have one shot, to get it right. Too often, the interns especially are at a loss. They're stressed, overworked, tired, and they don't know what to say or do to comfort a grieving person. You have to slow down, you know. It takes… a lot to be able to stand still. Your mind may be running a million miles an hour, you may be thinking about the dozens of other patients waiting for you outside, but you have to have the courage to stand still and face what's in front of you here and now."

And here I thought that I was alone.

To be continued…

Bavaria


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From his earliest memories, at every point in his life, his brother was there for him. Until a tragedy tore them apart, Resentment, anger and guilt dwell where brotherly love once had been. It is said that time heals all wounds. Can the brothers find the way back to each other? Will their sorrow solace one day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Beta-edited by Alpha Flyer; thank you for being my awesome beta:)

Another year passed. I was turning fourteen and getting on with my orphan life. Although, I wasn't that sort of an orphan from one of Dickens' books. We weren't living in Soviet Russia either. I didn't worry about starvation. No one took advantage of me. Nevertheless, something was missing.

I missed getting all the attention and getting spoiled by loving parents. I was jealous at those kids at my school and in our neighborhood that went on trips with their parents. Aunt Sally sent me packages with clothes and toys, but of course it wasn't the same. First of, she never managed to hit my colors – the shirts were sky blue or bright yellow or spinach green, and then, I had lost interest in table games and mini cars long ago, and was reading comics and books instead.

Aunt Sally tried to keep up and started to send me books. But I really wasn't all that interested in Willig's and Gabaldons' fiery and dirty imaginations.

Robert was strange, distant and very aloof. He came home only to sleep and spent most of his time at the university. Evenings, he went out with his friends or with Jane Cooper who had returned from Japan. We didn't talk much. I didn't admire him. I didn't look up to him. We didn't have that kind of older-brother-younger-brother relationship. It got to the point I really didn't recognize him; and it was not because of the beard. However, I did start to get accustomed to this routine.

One day when we went to buy groceries, I wanted to try homemade pizza.

A homeless man in an army jacket sat on the curb outside the store, begging for change. "Spare change for a cheeseburger?" He stretched out one trembling, skinny hand. The other one scratched the stump where his left leg used to be.

I took out a pound coin from my pocket and wanted to give it to him but Robert growled at me. "Get a job and buy one," he snapped at the man, his voice tight and annoyed. "Why don't you? There are plenty of dishwashing jobs out there. Go get yourself one."

The hopeless and drunk look in the man's eyes deepened, and he frowned. "What did I do wrong? All I want is something to eat."

"You're a fucking disgrace." Robert spat; was that acid in his tone? He didn't toss as much as another angry look toward the man and left, setting a fast pace.

"You shouldn't treat people like that," I told Robert after I had caught up with him and we went around a corner.

He made an innocent face. "Like what?"

I took his elbow to halt him, and looked him in the eye. "Like shit."

"That's precisely what he is," he pointed vaguely behind his shoulder. "A shit in an army jacket."

"He's having it bad enough, you don't have to make it worse."

Robert snorted. "As if I could."

We hurried across the street to catch a bus. After a long beat Robert resumed, "Can you believe that? London's full of homeless shelters, temporary residences and outreach programs financed by our fellow taxpayers. Apparently, it's not enough for those bums. Fuck those little, stinking pukes!" he raised his voice.

"Chill out."

I was trying to mollify Robert before people standing on the bus stop started to look our way.

"I feel sorry for him, I don't know. I mean we don't know what has happened to him, why he is like this. Maybe he's homeless because of the horrible life choices he made. Or because something terrible happened to him that he couldn't control."

Robert ignored me.

"Scum bags, having the gall to beg and scavenge. They always cry for more. They should get their shit together or the government or someone else should clean them off the streets!"

There was a coke can lying on the street. Robert kicked it away eagerly toward the bus stop.

If his yelling hadn't caught those pedestrians´ attention already, this did. I stopped, shrugged, offered an apologetic glance and went after Robert. He still looked annoyed but at least he seemed to come down from his tirade, breathing hard through his nose, eyes shut, lips thinned.

"You feel better now? That can had to buy it."

"Just because I hate lazy and unproductive people, does that make me a bigot?" Robert looked at me closely.

"What's a bigot?"

Robert waved his hand. "Nevermind."

I didn't. "It makes you an incredibly selfish, shallow, uncaring, snobbish moron."

He scowled at me. I had to laugh.

"By now he hates you with all his guts and wishes probably you would lose an arm or a leg and hit rock bottom and become an alcoholic just like him and choke on your own vomit in your sleep."

I added more seriously, "Hating people who have no other choice but to depend and live on the support of others makes you plainly a bad person."

Robert put his arms behind his head. "Bad person is too vague a word." He thought for a beat. "Besides, why should I be? I didn't do anything. Homeless like being homeless, anyway. It's their lifestyle, they enjoy it."

I reached out and stepped on his foot with my own. Robert sidestepped and made as if he were looking for a fight. Thankfully, the bus came.

After we'd found free places and the bus began to move, I asked him, "You didn't mean it, did you? What you said before."

"About the homeless being homeless by choice? Absolutely," Robert replied unemotionally.

That made _me_ angry, for a change. I sat in the bus, staring at him wrathfully for a moment; then I choked out, "By choice? Yeah, right. They just love being outside in the freezing weather with no blankets. They love going to a homeless shelter and being told it is full. They love having people walk over them, spit on them, beat them up and being told they are worthless like you did today. Try it sometime and see how you like it."

A slow, mocking smile spread across Robert's stony face.

"I believe in hard work and conviction that I can do everything with my life, everything at all. I can change it, I can shape it and re-shape it. But change is what happens when you aren't sitting on your butt, staring at your toes, waiting for it to come."

Something bubbled up inside him again, and the words came out in a vexed hiss.

"He could go to a shelter, find a job and gain self respect, but no. He'll rather camp on the sidewalk, blocking the way into shops. What a waste of taxpayers' money."

I wanted to tell my brother to go to Hell. But there was no point in scolding him or arguing with him. We sat like this, wordlessly, listening to the bus´ roaring engine, pointless conversations, coughs and sneezes, and someone's child's cries.

Robert's eyes closed, he leaned in to the window, silent and pensive. After a while, he spoke slowly and very quietly. "He's _done_ something to ruin his life. I don't feel sorry for him at all."

"I do not believe you," I replied.

"You don't have to, for what I care."

It hurt, but I insisted. "I don't."

His eyes snapped open. "He's a junky, Mike, a creep looking for money for drugs and alcohol, that's what he is. That shiftless piece of trash decided one day not to go to work and just clink his empty tin can and abuse the generosity of others. Don't forget that the next time you'll want to toss your pocket money away. People like that are just not worth it."

_Clearly, you have never been beaten with a dictionary._ "I still don't believe you. You can't know what happened to him. Maybe he had lost his leg at his job and they sacked him, and then he lost his family and his home and hasn't eaten for two days."

"Maybe he became a drug addict and then lost his job and his family."

"So? Everyone deserves help, everyone deserves a second chance. For the most part things never get built the way they were drawn. You want to be an architect, you should know it."

"Oh, please," Robert massaged his temples as if he tried to ward off a headache. "For the love of god, enough already." _  
_

When we reached Waterloo station, we had to change the bus. We raced from one platform to another and I kept talking. I didn't want to lose this fight. Because this was what it was, a fight. „If you didn't want me to give him money, we could offer him a sandwich. How can you tell if he hasn't eaten for three days? In fact, maybe he couldn't remember when he'd last eaten. Yeah, I'm sure he'd turn it down, and he just loves the life on the streets."

"I don't know, he looked pretty well fed to me."

I glared and didn't bother to dignify that ridiculousness with a response.

"Grow up and stop thinking you are better than everyone else just because your life has been more fortunate." It was the cold, warning look in Robert's eyes that stopped me cold.

"We worked hard for what we have, Mike. Tell me I'm wrong. Go on," he pushed me. "Tell me."

"You're dumb."

Robert was almost instantly on me and grabbed my arm, "Don't start, Mike."

I stiffened and tilted my chin away. "Let go of me. You're hurting me."

Robert rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Don't be ridiculous."

"I said, let me go!" I yelled this time, and it drove attention to us. "You fucking suck!"

That just slipped out. I didn't know when or where I heard it first. All I knew was that Robert smacked me immediately, and I had started regretting it.

Robert contemplated the situation, pressing his tongue against his teeth, almost looking crackbrained.

I was staring at him, literally gobsmacked.

An older pair came to us, asking if everything was alright. Still holding my arm, Robert replied something, anything mature and polite he could come up with in that moment. When they left after giving us few uncertain looks, Robert turned to me and said: "Sorry."

The word came out in a whisper, a hiss of air against the collar of his jacket.

In all honesty, I thought I deserved it. A bit, at least. "Me too," I said, confident that the storm had passed.

Quite the opposite, Robert reached out his other hand and gripped my other arm. "Not for smacking you, dumbass. You deserved it." He took a moment. "We could have ended up in an orphanage, you know? I... I… could have given you to an orphanage agent or something, you know, people do that. But Aunt loves you, and she wanted me to do the right thing, even though _she_ couldn't. For whatever reason. She always finds something why she can't be here or you there."

"What are you saying? You would want me..."

"I cannot put everything else before my life anymore. I'm not cut for this. I'm sorry."

I thought the day would never end. We got into the bus and when it finally stopped, Robert let go of the handrails and charged out into the street. He never turned once to see over his shoulder where I was, if I was keeping up with him.

And all the way home, his heartless words were echoing in my head.

To be continued…

Bavaria


End file.
